


Concessions

by tardisjournal



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Games Jack and Ianto Play, M/M, Porn With Plot, Slash, angst with fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-15 17:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisjournal/pseuds/tardisjournal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just like Jack to turn up where he wasn't invited, get all handsy, and assume that Ianto would be fine with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concessions

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: References to S2.1--"Kiss Kiss Bang Bang", S2.10--"From Out of the Rain"
> 
> Completed August 13, 2012

That business with the Night Travellers had soured Ianto on the Electro, so much so that when it closed for good, he wasn't sorry. His love for classic cinema burned unabated, however, so when a revival theater in Swansea announced a "Forty Favorites in a Fortnight" fest, Ianto made sure that he was there opening night.

The crowd was sparse, and if the looks of the people ahead of him in the queue were any indication, Ianto was the youngest person there by half. He didn't mind. He wasn't there to socialize.

He'd come alone for the same reason. He didn't need to hear Owen calling him an old fogy for his choice of entertainment, or Gwen's fussing over him when she found out he would be spending the evening in another restored theater. ( _"Are you sure, luv? It's so soon!"_ ) And he'd never seen Tosh enjoy anything on a screen bigger than a computer monitor.

As for Jack, well, that was complicated. Inviting Jack to accompany him to the cinema seemed too much like asking him on a date, and while they were "involved", they had never had a proper date. At this point Ianto wasn't sure he wanted one. True, he had got his hopes up when Jack had asked him out to dinner and a movie nearly ten months ago, but that had never materialized. It was probably for the best. "Dating", after all, implied all sorts of other things--like long, serious talks about their relationship--that Ianto was relieved not to have to deal with and was sure that Jack didn't want. Overall, it was easier just to avoid the issue of what they were and enjoy what they had.

So when Ianto left the Hub for the evening, he'd merely told Jack that he'd be out of town this night, and to please contact the others in case of emergency. Jack had been in one of his darker moods, and barely glanced up from the large piece of coral that he was fiddling with when he had mumbled “G'night.”

Ianto felt that he had might the right call. He knew from experience that when Jack got that dark, broody look on, nothing--not his most exotic coffee blend, Jack's finest Scotch, or even more "adult" offers--would break him out of the spell until he was good and ready. If he stayed, Jack would either ignore him or find an excuse to let all that simmering anger loose in Ianto's direction, and Ianto wasn't in the mood for either. The Fest was calling.

Ianto sighed, then put all thoughts of Captain Harkness out of his mind as he settled into a seat in the back of the theater. Tonight they were screening "The Seventh Seal" by Ingmar Bergman, the tale of a disillusioned Knight in the Plague-ravaged Middle Ages who questions the nature of faith while playing chess with Death. Ianto had first encountered the film as a disillusioned adolescent and been quite taken with it. He was curious to know if it would hold up now that he had experienced real-life horrors the 1950's-era filmmakers could scarcely have dreamed of.

**** **** **** ****

The music swelled, and Ianto bit his lip. Even though he knew what was going to happen, he was so caught up in the story he barely registered the fact that someone had sat down right next to him. Until the hand was on his knee.

Ianto started, nearly dropping his soda. He was halfway to his feet when a voice stage-whispered, "What's a guy like you doing in a nice place like this?”

Ianto realized who it was and fell against the back of his chair.

“Jack,” he whispered back. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching a movie, what else?”

“With your _hands_?” Ianto plucked Jack's hand off his knee and returned it Jack's own.

“Sorry, must have slipped.”

Ianto snorted and watched while Jack neatly folded his hands in his lap, then flashed him an innocent grin. Ianto arched a skeptical eyebrow, then turned his attention back to the screen. It was just like Jack to turn up where he wasn't invited, get all handsy, and assume that Ianto would be fine with it. The fact Ianto usually was fine with it wasn't the point. And he didn't even want to think about how Jack had discovered where he was. That was just creepy.

 _'Could have just asked where I was going, but no,'_ Ianto thought. _'He has to make an entrance.'_ He decided to ignore the man and focus his attention on the movie.

Two minutes later, Jack's hand was on Ianto's thigh.

Irritation and interest battled for supremacy inside Ianto. Irritation won out. This was his night, to do something he wanted to do.

"You're in the wrong kind of theater for that, Sir." Ianto removed Jack's hand again, then folded his arms and fixed his eyes forward.

 _"Sir,”_ came Jack's too-loud whisper. “I like that. In here it sounds like you don't know me. That's it! Pretend I'm a stranger.”

"Jack...” Ianto warned, own voice rising.

“Sir!” Jack corrected.

Ianto rolled his eyes. “ _Sir_ , I'd like to watch the movie, if you don't mind.”

"Oh, I don't mind. Not at all. You just go ahead and watch the movie.”

"Shhh!" someone admonished from off to the left.

Ianto slouched down in his seat, annoyance rising at having drawn someone's ire, and threw Jack a warning look, thinking that the man's capitulation had been far too easy. But his favorite part was coming up, and as long as Jack behaved, he'd deal with it.

Jack didn't behave. His hand returned to Ianto's thigh, his fingers dipping down to stroke the inside of it.

 _'Either he can't stand to have anyone around him or he's got to have constant attention. There's no middle ground. It's exhausting!'_

" _Sir _, I don't know who you think you are, but I'm not interested. Like I said, there are other theaters, with booths where you can touch all you like. Bring lots of change."__

Jack chortled and leaned in, so that Ianto could feel his warm breath against his neck. Tingles chased each other across his flesh and down his spine.

"If I go, will I see you there?"

"Hardly!"

"Are you sure? You seem rather... familiar with these establishments."

Ianto felt his cheeks grow warm.

"It was research. For work," he whispered fiercely, aware of how lame that sounded. Even though it was true. And why was he playing along with this ridiculous charade anyway? He was missing the movie.

"Then I'm not going," Jack declared. "There couldn't possibly be anyone there as pretty as you."

Ianto felt his flush deepen. _'Oh no he doesn't, he is NOT going to get his way with flattery and pheromones,'_ he thought, trying to convince the part of himself that was responding to exactly that.

“Jack, listen..."

"Dunno who this 'Jack' fellow is. But if he gets to touch you, then he's a lucky, lucky guy."

"He doesn't," Ianto snapped. "At least not in public."

"Awww, are you shy? How sweet." Jack leaned in closer. "You're probably very sensitive too. I bet you like to be touched right here..."

Jack slid his hand under the back of Ianto's knee and tickled, and yes, Ianto was very sensitive there, but that wasn't the point. He pushed his leg back, hard, so that Jack's hand was caught between the back of his knee and the seat.

"Ow!" Jack said, freeing his hand with a jerk, then shaking it out.

"Feisty, too, I like that," he said, undaunted.

Ianto sighed. "Sir, that's enough. I came here to watch the movie, not be mol..."

In a flash, Jack came half out of his seat and mashed his palm against Ianto's groin, while covering Ianto's mouth with his other hand, cutting off the younger man's cry of surprise.

"Now you listen here, son," Jack hissed. “You say you want to sit here and watch the movie, so sit here and watch the movie. I'm going to enjoy myself in another way, and you're not going to stop me, understand?"

Ianto stared, wide-eyed, at the head and shoulders looming over him in the semi-darkness. The light from the screen flickered across Jack's profile, causing his forehead and one cheekbone to stand out in stark relief while plunging the rest of his face in shadow, making him look, indeed, like a stranger. The hand around Ianto's throat felt cold. Jack's tone of voice had been colder. Ianto tried to back away from the hand pressing against his groin, but there was nowhere to go.

 _'Definitely likes to make an entrance,'_ Ianto thought, mind racing.

If it had been a real stranger, Ianto knew he had options, hand over his mouth and his privates or no. Like everyone in Torchwood, he'd been trained in self-defense (by Jack himself, nonetheless) and he was good at it. In all likelihood he could land a punch on the assailant's nose before he could react, or he could brace his feet on the floor and stand up fast, knocking the “stranger” off-balance and leaving him open for a counter-attack.

A stranger would have been lying on the floor already, moaning in pain and wondering what had happened.

But this man wasn't a stranger. Strange, and getting stranger every day, apparently, but no stranger. And Ianto "Love-The-Coat" Jones' body had always had a mind of its own when it came to Jack. It was one of the most infuriating things about the man. Like right now, when Ianto should be annoyed _(had been annoyed)_ at the interruption to his pleasant, solitary evening, and should have been offended by the cheap pick-up lines and not-so-veiled threats, instead what he mostly felt as he stared into that shadowed face was...turned on.

While his mind was still weighing his options, Ianto's traitorous body responded in a predictable, and very physical, manner. Jack's hand was in prime position feel it, and a feral grin spread across his face.

"That's a good boy. Who knows--you might even enjoy this."

"Shut up and sit down," someone called from across the room.

Jack ignored the catcall and continued to peer down down at Ianto. Ianto stared into his eyes but couldn't make out a thing.

 _'It would serve him right if I did punch him,'_ Ianto thought, but he suspected they both knew he wouldn't. Instead, Ianto closed his eyes and let his body relax against the chair in--god help him--surrender. And hoped Jack would hurry up and sit down before they got thrown out of the theater.

Jack did, removing the hand from Ianto's mouth and settling back into his seat. His other hand, however, remained between Ianto's legs. It had pulled back--thank goodness, that had really began to smart--but then it began tracing the outline of his cock through his trousers.

Ianto bit down a gasp and clutched the chair arm with one hand, the other holding tight to his cup.

 _'He's really going to do this. Here,'_ Ianto thought, as some distant part of his mind took note of their surroundings: the presence of the crowd scattered about in the darkness, the restored faux-velvet chair he was sitting in, the giant image of Death on the screen. That part clucked in disapproval even he lifted his hips to increase the pressure of Jack's fingers.

"Such a good boy," Jack whispered. "Spread your legs for me. Wider."

Ianto did, suspecting that his flush was now visible even in the darkness; a beacon signalling his arousal and his shame. Jack palmed his cock in a much friendlier way than he had before, and a small groan escaped Ianto's lips.

"Be quiet," Jack warned. "Or they'll all come over to see what the commotion is. You don't want that, do you?"

Ianto shook his head.

"Although," Jack continued, removing his hand so that he could unzip Ianto's fly, "You're putting on a better show than the one up there. Maybe I _should_ call them over."

Ianto choked down a strangled gurgle and fervently hoped his neighbors were more interested in the movie than what was going on around them. Then Jack's hand wormed its way into the fly of his boxers and wrapped itself around Ianto's erection, and it didn't seem that important anymore.

From somewhere far away, Ianto heard the crunch of crushed ice as his cup hit the floor.

Jack's hand, which was thankfully warmer than it had been, held him for a long moment. Ianto's member throbbed but the rest of him stayed stock-still, save for a little tremble here and there. He wanted to move, to rub, to thrust, but knew he couldn't lest they attract unwanted attention. And he must be quiet too, can't forget that...

"Might want to open your eyes, son. You're missing the movie." Jack's voice floated into Ianto's consciousness. His eyes flew open. The movie! He'd forgotten.

Ianto titled his head back and gazed at the screen through dazed, unseeing eyes. Jack's hand began to move, slowly, deliberately, up and down his length.

Perspiration broke out along Ianto's brow and he struggled to keep his breathing under control. It felt so good, he was afraid he was going to come immediately, like he had the first time he'd been touched like that. Would that be such a bad thing, given the circumstances?

But _because_ it felt so good, he didn't want to come immediately, and damn the circumstances. He threw his head back, pushed his hips forward as far as he dared, and bit down on his cheek to keep from making any noise.

Jack chuckled. "You just love this, don't you?"

Yes, yes he did.

"It's always the shy ones," Jack observed, punctuating this with some deft flicks of his thumb over the top of Ianto's member. Then he pinched the tip of it closed.

Ianto shuddered and swallowed a whimper.

"I bet I could push your head down in my lap right now and you wouldn't stop me, would you? You'd just wrap those pretty lips around my cock and suck for all you're worth."

Yes, yes he would.

"Bet you're good at at too. A mouth like yours was just built for cock-sucking," Jack observed as he resumed stroking, more vigorous now.

Ianto, despite his best intentions, knew he wasn't going to last much longer.

"If the usher came over, you'd suck him off too, wouldn't you? Oh, you'd say you were just doing it to stay out of trouble, but you and I both know how much you'd love it."

Ianto's hips bucked, and he sucked in his breath to keep from crying out as he came. Jack covered Ianto's mouth again with his other hand, which, if anything, made Ianto come harder. He writhed under Jack's hands as pleasure exploded through him for a few glorious moments, then fell back, spent.

Jack stroked his sweaty brow with one hand and ran the fingers of the other, sticky with Ianto's sweat and come, lightly over Ianto's softening cock. Ianto shuddered through a few after-shocks of pleasure, then turned his head and gazed at Jack in a half-lidded daze.

Jack removed his hands, produced some napkins out of nowhere, and proceeded to clean Ianto off and tuck him back into his trousers. Ianto watched in passive fascination. The paper napkins were scratchy on his sensitized areas, making him shiver.

"There," Jack said, when he'd completed his work. "Just in time for the thrilling conclusion."

"If you two don't shut up, I'm calling the manager!"

Jack gave a cheery wave in the direction of the voice, then settled back in his chair.

When the manager came by to escort them out, it wasn't really a surprise. Ianto figured they were lucky not to get arrested. Despite Jack's prediction, Ianto offered up no sexual favors; he merely nodded and rose meekly to follow him out. He wondered how much the man had seen.

They proceed up the aisle to the lobby; Ianto scrubbing a hand across his face and re-tucking his shirt where it had come loose, Jack trailing behind them. The Art-Deco lobby blazed with light after the darkness of the auditorium and Ianto resisted the urge to look down and see if there was a wet spot on his trousers. He really didn't want to know.

Then the ornate double-doors closed behind them, leaving them on the sidewalk in the cool, drizzly Welsh evening. Jack and Ianto looked at each other for the first time since they had left their seats and burst out laughing.

"You bastard," Ianto gasped.

"Come on, you loved it. Son," Jack said, looking extremely pleased with himself. Ianto punched Jack on the arm.

"I'm not your son."

"Good thing. Otherwise that would have been really wrong."

"You mean it wasn't?"

"You tell me," Jack grinned. Ianto shook his head, but his reply was cut off by an unexpected yawn.

"See, you can't," Jack said. He pointed ahead of them and to the right. "I'm parked around the corner." Jack said. "You?

Ianto pointed in the opposite direction. "Two blocks over."

"You O.K. to drive?"

Ianto stifled another yawn. His whole body felt loose and relaxed, his mind clear. "I'm good."

"I'll just bet you are," Jack smirked.

"I'll get you for this, Jack. You know I will. Expect it when you least expect it."

"Looking forward to it."

Jack reached out to pluck a bit of damp napkin from the front of Ianto's trousers and held it up. Ianto batted out of Jack's hand with a chagrined smile, then shrugged, feeling too damn good to be properly mortified.

"Want to meet back at yours?" Jack asked.

Ianto looked at Jack, considering. That would kill the rest of his plans for the evening. Well, the mystery novel he'd bought weeks ago had waited this long; it could wait some more. And to be sure, the beer he was planning to enjoy later would go down better with company. In fact, he couldn't remember why he'd been so intent on being alone in the first place.

"Sure."

They walked to the corner and then headed off in opposite directions.

"Oh, Ianto?" Jack called.

Ianto turned.

"Sorry about making you miss your movie."

Ianto smiled. "There was a movie?"


End file.
